


Signed O.G.

by Prosaic



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Princess Tutu
Genre: Crossover (of sorts), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosaic/pseuds/Prosaic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autor tries his hand at being a play write. (But everybody's a critic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signed O.G.

**Author's Note:**

> Completed 2009. Originally written for LiveJournal user bookelfe.

"....I'm beginning to have second thoughts."

Hermia looked up from her work, pins poking out from between her pursed lips. 

"Avout de perforance?" She attempted to say.

Rue twisted her waist and ran her hands down her hips. 

"About this dress. I know that the scene requires some...sensuality, but the skirt hugs in such a way that--and the neckline-..." She blushed in spite of herself. Donning something similar her old outfit as Kreahe was fine and well when nobody knew it was really Rue. But going out onto the stage as _herself_ in something so needlessly revealing--the more she thought about it the more she felt uncomfortable. She was a princess now; she was allowed a little modesty.

Hermia rose from her knees, smiling encouragingly. "It's not so bad. We could try to do something to keep the sleeves from slipping down your shoulders if you like." She waved a safety pin. After a moment of consideration, Rue nodded. She watched the taller girl move behind her and pull at the dress's drooping fabric, twisting it together into a knot until the sleeves had risen up from their resting place on her biceps to fall smoothly across her pale shoulders. 

Rue frowned at her reflection; although the neckline no longer dropped quite as low, the bodice now stretched indecently across her chest, making it appear even more pronounced than before. She didn't miss the little squeak that emitted from her companion at catching sight of the new development.

"Err, well, I suppose it's...covering more now." She quivered at the brunette's glare. "Oh don't be upset Miss Rue; it only clings as much as a dance leotard would." 

_But it's essential for a leotard, because you're body has to be free to be able to move. If you're just standing around and singing--inhaling--_

She tried to stop herself from childishly blowing out her cheeks in irritation. There was no helping it. The only proper course of action at this point was to bring up her complaint with the director himself, who after all had written the production and could perhaps be persuaded to make--what she deemed to be--a few essential changes. 

With little warning to Hermia, who was forced to scramble to keep her balance, she lifted her skirt and turned on her heel, making a beeline from the wigs out onto Kinkan Academy’s largest performance stage. She had to swerve to avoid a few flustered drama students who were all trying to hoist a huge chandelier over the center of the stage, and having a hard time of it. At one point two of them lost their grip, causing the remaining two to slide forward a few feet, and the immense weight of the object to yank them up on their toes as they tried to keep it from falling. 

Over to the far right, ballerinas were warming up in preparation for the scenes that hopefully were to be rehearsed once the scenery was in place. One of the boys from the art department was watching them, making him completely unaware that he had dipped his brush into the wrong color and was painting what was supposed to be the backdrop for a night sky a lovely light green until his instructor rushed over to scold him. 

Somewhere someone was singing horrendously off key while their accompanist was undoubtedly trying to play so loudly that the squeaks and cracks of their voice would not be heard. Some of the stronger students were lugging heavy pieces of sets and furniture that still needed to be painted to various points on the stage. Waiting for a chest of drawers to pass her, Rue saw a gaggle of girls chatting excitedly to one another while sewing large colorful dresses. As she wandered towards them she caught little snippets of their conversation.

“-and oh I hope I’ll get to be near the front of the corps, I was working forever on this-” 

“-do you think he’ll care if it’s blue? He didn’t really specify the color-” 

“-but she does have a lovely voice, I guess that’s why he wanted her for the part. A lot of the other girls in the music department didn’t really match up--Ouch! Oh hand me that thimble-”

“-but if only Fakir had been chosen-” 

“But he probably wanted to make sure that the lead was played correctly, and Fakir doesn’t really sing much, does he? That’s why he’s-” 

“Oh you’re too generous to his character, he probably just wanted to play the lead because he wrote it. It’s kind of narcissistic-” 

“Yes but I heard that Fakir didn’t want to do it anyway-” 

Rue huffed and pointedly made to move on--personally she was glad that Fakir had refused the lead role when he’d been prompted. It would have made things increasingly awkward for the both of them, for she wouldn’t have denied her role once it had been offered, and she didn’t think she could even fain attraction to him in any form. _Perhaps Mytho could have--but no, he’d already been given the role that was most suitable for him, for_ them. 

She smiled and a soft blush dusted her cheeks at the thought. Together, two young lovers who are wrenched apart by a devious creature of darkness only to be blissfully reunited in the end. Yes that suited them quite well. 

.......

Said young male lead was in the process of being fitted for a long elegant looking white coat. He was making the task slightly difficult for the costumer because he kept twisting around to watch their progress and talk to a surly looking Fakir who was leaning against a nearby piece of scenery. 

“But Fakir, you don’t seem very excited.”

“Because I’m not.”

“But we’re going to be the leads in an opera! I’ve never been in an opera before; do you suppose it’s anything like performing in a ballet?”

“Not really. It’s more like performing in a play; you just sing the lines instead of speaking them. And my role is hardly as important in comparison to yours. You're the hero after all.”

The prince swiveled to fix his former knight with a puzzled look. 

“Aren’t you playing Monsieur Fermiums-”

“- _Firmin_. And no, he’s more of a supporting character. With less singing.” The indifference evident in his tone suggested that he’d rather not have to _speak_ , let alone sing. 

Mytho just smiled blithely. “But you’re still important.” His friend snorted, which he chose to ignore. “I’ve never really had to sing for such an extended period of time before; I’m sure Rue will have no problem managing it-she’s put on plenty of performances in the kingdom--but I’ve only ever had to sing a few songs for a crowd when my mother prompted me, so I think I might need a little more practice--”

“I’m sorry, but could you lift your arm for a moment?”

Mytho started out of his musings and looked down at the young man crouched at his side.

“Ah, yes of course.” As he moved to raise his left arm, Fakir turned at the call from the previous chattering girls who were now waving him over, and slowly started off in their direction. Seeing him turn to leave, Mytho reached out to him. 

“Ah, Fakir-?” At his movement there was an apparent ripping noise. He turned to stare dumbly at his sleeve which had been torn from the coat, and then smiled sheepishly at the irate teenager who stood frozen with a needle and thread still clutched in his hands. 

“Oh, um…my apologies.” 

......

When she finally caught sight of her target seated behind the piano on the far side of the stage, he was already engaged with a fuming red-head clad in a flowy dance tutu. 

“Can’t I just switch with someone?” 

He was busy flipping the musical score and making little check marks with his quill. 

“ _Switch_? It’s too late for that now. If you'd checked the cast list earlier maybe we could have done something, but at this point everyone is already assigned and preparing. It would be too much to ask them to learn an entirely new role. You’ll just have to make do with the part you were given.” He was still trying to pull together the middle of the first act and her grumbling wasn’t making the task any easier. _The melody needed to be slower, darker. He needed to bewitch the audience just as much as he was bewitching_ her-

“I can’t even dance that well, and you want me to _sing_? I can’t sing! I'll probably end up breaking glass or something and everyone will stare-”

He huffed and met her eyes for the first time- clearly unwilling to discuss the matter. 

“You don’t even have that many lines. Stop complaining and go practice with the rest of the dancers. I have far more _important_ things to worry about right now.”

“…Why can’t Pique-”

“She’s playing the dance instructor, which is much more of a challenging role. We need her where she is.”

“…Lillie?”

“She’s the rival diva.”

Ahiru paused. “Really? Can she handle a part that big?”

“Humn. She had the voice for it.”

“But isn’t that character supposed to be a _bad_ singer?”

He shuffled his papers. “Exactly.”

“…Malen?”

“Stop _pestering_ me! Don't you have a over-rated writer who will willingly listen to your complaints?”

“There must be someone else! Don’t tell me I was your first choice?”

He shot her an irritated glace over the rims of his glasses. “Of _course not_. But miraculously you managed not to flub your audition and afterwards Rue was _so_ bloody insistent-”

“Because it would be good for her to have to challenge herself a little.”

He jumped so suddenly that his knees slammed painfully against the underside of the piano. “Ah-pr-prince-eah, _Rue_ -”

Ahiru frowned at the new arrival. 

“ _Ruue_ , I don’t need _that_ much of a challenge! It’s hard enough just trying to keep up with the rest of the chorus! How am I supposed perform all on my own?” She added quietly, “You’re the one who made me audition anyway, I think you had all of this planned out to begin with.” 

“Don’t speak so lowly of yourself. You’ve faced far more difficult tasks before, and you overcame them didn’t you? You just need to _practice_ instead of trying to find a way to skip out of your responsibilities.” 

The petite girl swelled for a moment, her brow furrowing, before folding her arms and muttering incoherently to herself.

Rue fixed her attention back on her original reason for making the journey over. 

“Autor.”

He jumped again and adjusted his glasses, his face flushing. 

“Ah, yes? Is there something you need Rue? A problem?”

Her expression cooled. “I should think so. Tell me Autor, do you see anything wrong with my appearance?”

He froze, caught off guard. “Uh…um…” Cautiously, he let his gaze trail down her form. “I… ah, what am I supposed to-?” The hard look he received told him that she was close to doing something unpleasant--maim him perhaps. _Oh he’d never been good with temperamental women, even the lovely ones._

“The _dress_.”

“Oh, oh yes of course, the dress. It looks wonderful--ah--perfect!” He attempted. Her cheeks colored in anger.

“ _Perfect_ , my dear director?” She spat the offensive word. _Oh he must be in trouble._

Her attention snapped to the space's other occupant. 

“What about _you_ Ahiru, would _you_ say I look _perfect_?” 

Ahiru shrank from her sharp tongue, suddenly anxious from being put on the spot. 

“E-eh? Uh um…you’re--well--”

“ _Très magnifique_!”

The words struck before the rose petals had a chance to descend. He seemed to have teleported before them; the familiar feeling of dread didn’t even have time to settle in Rue’s stomach as her pale hand was snatched by a tanned one, him suddenly on bended knee beside her.

“ _Mon cher_ , surely there is no one who is more suited for such a fine and luxurious dress as one such as you and your stunning figure--complemented by dark, shining silken hair, clear smoldering eyes, _très très bien_ ~”

“Did. You. _Need_ something?” Autor bit out. He’d recovered from the initial surprise and was trying to keep himself from trembling in annoyance and something else that certainly wasn’t jealously. 

Femio looked up at him before beaming and bounding forward. 

“Ah, _directeur de Monsieur_! I have been hoping to speak with you!”

“Oh?” 

“ _Oui_! First and foremost I wish to extend my congratulations in your shining accomplishment! Never before had I read something so…powerful as your work! The thought of the soaring drama and the over powering message of love and devotion conquering darkness- _très amour_!~ Why it made my heart yearn to break free of its confines! My soul wished me to sing out in rapture-!”

He interjected before the brunette could act on his urges. “Yes thank you, but unless you have something other than praise for my skill to discuss I’m really _quite busy_ at the moment.” 

The eccentric young man snapped to attention so suddenly he made the group jump and step back from him as one. 

“Yes yes but of course. I’d nearly gotten lost in my own euphoria!” He tossed his hair and chuckled, amused with himself. “My reason for seeking you is quite simple. I’m not sure if you knew, but I was not made immediately aware of this production-a tragedy in itself!-and therefore am afraid that I had missed the original time for auditioning.” 

“ _Really_?” The weary composer rubbed the spot between his brows.

“ _Oui vraiment_! To think that I was unable to offer my extensive abilities to your wonderful production! I knew immediately that I must rectify this extreme error by coming to you straight away and interview _tout de suite_!” he made to present himself in a dramatic pose before the piano; they half expected him to produce a skull and launch into a scene from _Hamlet_. 

“Now hold on, there aren’t any parts left to audition for! All of the significant roles have already been filled!”

Femio paused, blinking. “But _surely_ an acceptation can be made! I’m positive that once you see my performance you’ll be convinced that I must take to role of the romantic hero-”

Rue bristled. “ _Mytho_ has already secured the part.”

“-or of course the production’s namesake, the tragic villain himself, _le fantôme de l'opéra_!”

“Which is _also_ unavailable!” The playwright raged, for he himself occupied that role.

“True true _mon bon ami habile_ , but after _I_ audition-”

Autor tried to silence them by closing his eyes and pressing his temples with his fingers. He was getting a little more than annoyed with the continuous bombardment of problems that day; the demands for change in the choreography, the badgering from those who felt they had been miss cast, the supercilious suggestions of his fellow music students as how to improve upon his lyrics. _Could no one just do as they were told and stop coming to him for every conceived imperfection? Couldn’t they be satisfied with what he’d written and what parts they had been assigned? Why couldn’t they respect his original decisions? They wouldn’t have anything_ done _at this rate!_

Ahiru was tapping lightly on his shoulder. “Look, Autor, if I can find someone who wants to switch with me-”

_Shut up._

Femio was brandishing a copy of the script and reading from the text in a booming, overly dramatic tone as he faced away from them, writhing and holding a hand to his brow in a mock swoon. “-You little viper! Now you cannot ever be free! Damn you! Curse _yooooou_ ~!” he fell to his knees, Moutan hovering in to shower his employer with petals. 

“Master Femio!”

_Shut up._

“I don’t see why the scene is even necessary! You could just have him kidnap her without the song, and then I won’t even need the dress!”

_Shut up._

“Autor hey-”

“How was that _Monsieur_ , I could have-”

“It’s simply indecent!”

“Autor-” “ _Directeur_ -” “ _Autor_ -!”

_Shut up!_

Choked gasps and cries of “Look out!” were followed by screams of surprise and fright and the thunder of footsteps as those present dashed away from center stage. There was a _chink!_ followed by a sudden deafening crash as what had been a glittering chandelier was now nothing more than a heap of rope and broken glass.

“…Well. Brilliant.”


End file.
